Sherlock's Journal
by LadyKailitha
Summary: Molly gives Sherlock a parting gift after the Fall. A journal. And against all odds he actually writes in the damn thing.


**June 16th**

Molly has told me that I have to write a journal so that I can let my feelings 'bleed off'. I don't know what she means by this and she didn't explain it very well but after a month of her nagging I have finally agreed to write in this damn thing.

As I had been doing for the last month I followed John on his business. I couldn't help it. I had to know he was alright. But the evidence was stacking up to the contrary. He went to his therapist's for the first time in eighteen months. My lip reading was a bit rusty but I could make out the words "My best friend Sherlock Holmes is dead." I was grateful for the rain. No one would notice a few tears on an already soaked face. I watched as he talked about everything but what was bothering him. I could tell from his expression.

I followed him to the cemetery where I witnessed the most heartbreaking monologue in the history of the world.

"…But please, there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be... dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this…." Whatever pieces of my heart that remained shattered as I watched him cry. As he turned and marched off, a single tear streaked down my face.

"Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." I turned around to find my brother standing there. It had been a month since I revealed myself to him and I was regretting that. Why couldn't he leave me alone?

"Go away Mycroft." I had no desire to speak with him. It was all his fault. If he had kept his mouth shut I wouldn't have had to leave John.

"Really, is this suppose to be helpful?" He said, indicating the retreating form of my former flatmate. His voice held a nasal whine to it.

"It's how I want to live my afterlife." I told him as I walked off. He grabbed my arm. "Let go." I hissed at him.

"If you really want to help him, make this world a safer place for him to live in." I looked back at Mycroft.

"If I can find you, those assassins aren't going to be far behind. There _are_ three of them. I gave you their files. One of them was even in Afghanistan with the good doctor and he's the worst of the lot." I hadn't read them. I couldn't bring myself to read about that men that had burned the heart out of me. It wasn't Moriarty, it was these three. Moriarty hadn't stuck around to see me fall apart.

"Find them. Kill them." He hissed my ear. "You're dead, Sherlock. You can't incarcerate a dead man." I really looked at him then. He let go of my arm, roughly flinging it away.

"Are you sanctioning a hit Mycroft?" I was intensely curious now.

"No," he said as he strolled off twirling that damn umbrella of his. "I'm sanctioning _three _of them."

"Even on British soil?" I yelled after him. But he just waved me off like it was nothing. I smiled for the first time since I took that leap of faith off the roof of St. Bart's.

When I got home I looked over the three case files Mycroft had given me when he visited me that first day I revealed myself to him in his club. When he informed the world believed Sherlock Holmes was dead.

I poured over every inch of their case files and he was right. Sebastian Moran was the worst of a very bad lot. I went over their methods and style. Lestrade's assassin was Ivan Orlov who liked to get close to their target in a crowded area and then walk away in the confusion that followed. Mrs. Hudson's, a burly Italian named Dante Boerio, preferred to double tap the heart and one to the head with a pistol. They did for the money. Pure honest greed. Nothing special about them. But Sebastian, ooh now he was a bad, bad man.

He was a sniper that had been dishonorably discharged due to psychotic tendencies. He loved the thrill of the kill. Of taking people's life in his hands and ending it with a single shot to the head. They had even found his sniper nest after my "suicide". He had set up in a service stairway in the buildings across from Bart's.

Damn Moriarty. He KNEW John would have come back for me once he discovered the ruse with Mrs. Hudson. He KNEW! I wanted to throw the damn things into the fire and was about to do just that when something caught my eye.

He had been part of Moriarty's organization for quite awhile. About a year before John was invalided out. Moriarty must have been pleased to learn of the two's connection. I just wondered why he never tried to exploit it. I mean I would have. But perhaps he wanted to keep him all to himself. That would be the selfish thing to do.

I wondered briefly if Moran felt anything when his master put a gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger. If he found out I was alive John would be dead. Dead as I was suppose to be.

**June 23rd**

Chased Orlov through France. Almost had him but was spotted by Moran. I fear for John now. I sent a note to him to warn him in hopes he would be prepared. Got a call from Mycroft instead.

"I intercepted your little note, brother dear," came the snide voice on the other end.

"Damn it Mycroft! I was spotted by Moran, he needs to be warned that a psychopathic killer is coming after him!" I was starting to shout. I got strange glances at the dumb tourist they thought I was.

"I've been watching him. He's fine." And then he had the audacity to hang up on me.

**July 2nd**

Met up with Boerio yesterday. I had fun torturing this one. He thought he could get the drop on me. A big burly guy. He found out the hard way. I did what I did to that American only worse. Got a call from Mycroft complaining about that mess.

"I assumed that you would have had the intelligence and foresight to kill them discreetly, Sherlock." He did not sound amused.

"That was the plan brother dear until he attacked me first." I could hear the exasperated sigh on the other end.

"Very well." And again he hung up on me. I was starting to think he regretted his decision to let me take care of the assassins. Got a call from Molly. She was glad to hear I was writing in this thing. She wasn't happy however to hear me ask her to send a message to John.

"No." I was shocked.

"What do you mean 'no'?" She had never told me no before.

"I mean no. Sherlock, your brother would kill me."

"Oh he wouldn't do it himself. I mean he barely has the patience to dress himself." I quipped.

"It doesn't matter. I value my life thanks. I know it's hard Sherlock but it really is in his best interest not to know." I sat in silence for a moment or two before I asked.

"How is he?"

"He's moving out to the country." I cursed. "He really misses you, he can't stand going back to a Baker St that doesn't have you in it."

Again the silence stretched on.

"Sherlock?" I never did answer her. John would have told me it was not good. But I didn't want to be good anymore. I hung up.

I cried myself to sleep. Mrs. Hudson was safe. But the cost… dear god the cost.

**July 3rd**

I woke to find one of Mycroft's agents screaming at me in Italian. Once he saw I was awake, he told me broken English to run. Moran had found me yet again. Apparently my handy work had attracted too much attention.

Mycroft would be pleased, as he often is when he's right about something. I missed my heavy coat and scarf but they stood out too much. I hadn't shaved in days. Hell I don't even remember when my last shower was. Food was whatever I could steal as passed through towns. I didn't want to eat at all but John's face would come to my mind and I would find myself eating.

Last night the nightmares started. To be honest I was surprised they hadn't started earlier. It was always the same thing. I am chasing Moran through the dark streets of London and then he vanishes and I hear a shot ring out and the fog clears to reveal he standing over John's body with a Chelsea smile like grin literally splitting his face, laughing as John bleeds out on to the pavement. And it repeats on an endless loop.

I resolved not sleep.

**July 31**

The lack of sleep is making me see things now.

Yesterday I'll swear I saw John standing underneath the Brandenburg Gate. I ran for him but when I got to the base no one was there. I didn't know what to do. I fell to my knees and cried.

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and I looked up.

"Come brother, you need to sleep." I tried to explain I couldn't but I felt a scratch on my neck and my eyes rolled back.

I woke up in a dingy hotel with Mycroft sitting in the chair watching me.

I rubbed my eyes and glared at him. "How long was I out?" I asked as I stumbled toward the bathroom to rid my system of the drug.

"Not long enough. I forget that your previous habits make it hard to drug you."

"That's not answering my question," I told him as I made my way back to the bed.

"Eight hours, Sherlock."

"Dammit!" I did not need sleep. I was on a case. But my body knew better then my mind did.

"You're having nightmares again aren't you?" I looked at him. Yes, I had nightmares after mummy's death. I was angry that he even remembered.

"You need sleep and I'm not letting you slip back into your old habits again." His voice was quiet but firm.

"I've ruined him, Mycroft." There was never a doubt who _he_ was. "He saw his therapist that day you found me in the cemetery. That stupid woman." I was starting to cry.

Mycroft stood up and moved over to the bed and I laid my head on his lap the way I use to do as a boy when the boys at school would bully me.

"You made him a better person, Sherlock, never doubt that. You heard what he said, he _was _so alone. And he will welcome you back with open arms. This is John." I just cried.

He got me up and made sure I showered and shaved. He had brought me clean clothes and made sure I put them on. He's letting me write up today. Ouch… what was tha-

**August 5th**

I woke up to instead of the Spree outside my window I saw the Seine. I was back in France. I didn't want to be back in France. How was I back in France? I found out soon enough. They had moved me because Moran was on to my position again. And as I told well… all right, yelled at Mycroft when he told me this, if I had been awake I wouldn't have had been had to _be_ moved, I could run on my own.

His reply did not make me feel better. "If I hadn't knocked you out Sherlock, a little girl could have taken you down with a feather." I protested and my body protested in return. It was trying to tell me I was hungry. I could smell cheese croissants and coffee.

Mycroft handed me a cup with two sugars. "As you like it." He smiled his tolerant smile. And then he watched to make sure I had at least two cups of coffee and three of the croissants.

"So why France?" I asked when my body stopped protesting the lack of food.

"You've been here before, I assumed he wouldn't think to check here for awhile." I nodded as I poured a third cup of coffee. It did make sense. Even if it was Mycroft that said it.

"We were tracking Ivan Orlov through Turkey when we lost him. We are assuming it was there he met up with Moran who helped him vanish. But I'm sure will pick up the trail again soon enough." I glared at him. Dante Boerio had been easy. Why wasn't Orlov and Moran that easy? Damn it I needed John. I needed a quip, a snarky comment, even him just being there stimulated my senses.

"You could always talk to me, brother dear." It was almost as though he was reading my thoughts.

"And have you tell me they are stupid? No thanks." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "It's what I liked about John. He never looked down on me for anything. He never thought I was a freak or some automaton who solves crimes and spits out the result on ticker tape." I punched my eyes fighting back the tears. "He never asked for anything save basic things, like cleaning up the flat, getting milk, not shooting the walls." Mycroft snorted, his disdain evident but I continued I didn't care what he thought. I stood up and pounded on my chest with every word.

"But all he wanted in return was my friendship. That was it. And I threw that all away in a vain attempt to save his life." I threw my arm out toward the window. "Every night I look out that window or any god damn window and am painfully aware that he is hurting because of me!" I stabbed my chest with my finger. Things went hazy and I found myself back on the bed, Mycroft's personal physician looking me over and very irritated Mycroft swinging his umbrella angrily.

"If you keep this up I will be force to tie you a hospital bed until you are well enough to not pass out at the first rising of your blood pressure." I looked up at the woman doctor and closed my eyes. I imagined John's cool hands on my brow.

"Physically he's fine. Or he would be if ate more often but this was pure stress. Whatever is going on is taking a toll on his body. His mind is trying to shut it down." My eyelashes fluttered open. _My eyelashes fluttered open?_ I'm starting to write like John.

"I can't quit now." I told the room.

"No. No you can't, can you?" Mycroft's voice took on the tone of exasperation.

"I've think I've figured out how they keep finding me."

"Oh?" Mycroft inquired as he waved off the doctor.

"Yes. They aren't tracking me. They're tracking you." I could hear Mycroft curse and he grabbed his phone. I heard him yell into his phone. I smiled as I could tell Mycroft was chewing out his superiors for the bumbling mistake of putting a tracking device on his phone.

He pulled out the sim card and smashed the rest of the phone under his heel.

"Looks like this will be the last you see of me, brother. But that's what you wanted wasn't it?" I didn't reply and merely listened for the closing door and the retreating steps of my big brother.

**Oct 15th**

Got a call from Mycroft, they had picked up the dog's scent in Austria. And I was in Greece. Making the damn call pointless. By the time I got to Austria he would be long gone. I told Mycroft to try and force him my way. He laughed. And then hung up on me.

I got another call, this time it was Molly.

"How on earth do you know where to find me?" I asked. "Never mind, Mycroft tells you. Tell him I don't need a watch dog."

"I'm just making sure you're okay, Sherlock."

"I'm not okay. How could I be?"

"I saw him today." I closed my eyes torn between wanting to know and fearing to know.

"He's started up his own practice. It's nice, I've seen it. His patients call him sad though. Even they can see he's not right. They think a good girl will help him get over his troubles."

"No one is good enough for him. Not even you. Because you are lying to him. Keeping him from me," I spat.

"Sherlock… No I understand. Take care." She hung up. I managed to find an internet cafe and looked up John's blog. And he hadn't put up anything since that blasted news article. An idea crossed my mind. I could sign in as myself and tell John I'm still alive. But before the idea could even fully blossom, I crushed it. They would be able to track it back to me. And then there was the worry that he might not believe it was me.

I slinked away from the cafe, heart heavy.

**Nov 29th**

The Christmas holiday is approaching and I still wasn't closer to finding Orlov and Moran. I passed a shop in Prague, that was selling men's jumpers. I saw a nice dark blue one that I wanted to get John. I went to a pay phone and called Mycroft.

"I want to buy John a present."

"Sherlock…" came the exasperated reply.

"No look, he doesn't have know it's from me… please?" I could almost hear him roll his eyes. "Besides in our time together I've never gotten him anything. He wouldn't know it was me."

"I'm guessing you already have something in mind…"

"Yes!" I jumped up excitedly. I quickly gave him John's size, a detailed description of the jumper, the name of the store, it's address.

"All right. It'll be sent to him anonymously. He won't even think it was from me." I thanked him and dashed off, feeling better for the first time in months.

**Dec 25th**

"Happy Christmas, brother dear." Mycroft's voice intoned over the line.

"I thought we weren't doing Christmas phone calls. Unless they did enact that law," I sneered.

Moran had almost caught up with me today and I was in no mood for my brother.

"I just thought you'd want to know, I received reports of John wearing your jumper today."

"That is the best present I've ever gotten, thank you!" I danced around happily.

"So what did you get him?" I asked when I was calm enough to talk again.

"What makes you think I gotten him anything at all?" Mycroft sounded more amused then upset.

"Because it would be the easiest way to insure that my gift could not be mistaken for yours. So what did you get him"

"I got him a scarf." I closed my eyes. Of course.

"I hope he liked it." I said quietly. Mycroft scoffed.

"Mrs. Hudson knitted him one like yours and I think mine got thrown in the back of a drawer somewhere."

"Poor Mycroft, John doesn't even realize, the scarf you got him was from Paul Smith, the man who designed mine. Which would make it worth more to him than he supposes. But because Mrs. Hudson made him a cheap imitation of mine, he'll wear it instead."

"Yes, well. Good day brother." And this time he waited until I said good bye before hanging up.

**March 20th**

"What now?" came the biting response on the other end.

"Well hello to you too, Mycroft."

"I've been busy and things aren't all sunshine and roses you know."

"Just two itty-bitty things."

"Yes of course you can be in London for the one year anniversary of your 'death'. Now what's the other?" He sounded ill but I didn't have time for that, it needed to be perfect.

"I found John a birthday present." I pulled the phone away from my ear as he bellowed.

"Now, now. Anonymously, as before."

"When is his birthday?" came the defeated response.

"The 26th."

"Of when?"

"This month." The phone got moved away from my ear again.

"Fine." And he hung up on me again.

**March 30th**

John's birthday came and went and I got anxious. I was about to call Mycroft when I got a call from Molly.

"What were you thinking?!" Her voice was angry. I frowned.

"I don't understand."

"Mycroft told me about the jumper, which looks lovely by the way. It really brings out the color in his eyes." I was smiling. It's why I chose it after all.

"But this?! This, this is too much!" At that point I knew she was talking about his birthday present.

"He's going to know it's you." I shook my head.

"No he won't," I told her quietly. "He doesn't even know I knew."

"Wait, what? How could he not know, this is you."

"Yes but even then John would be surprised when I would pick up on things like that."

"His father's war time medal. How on earth did you find it?"

"I nicked it from a War Museum in Belgium."

"Oh god, you didn't. Sherlock you can't do that," she moaned.

"Why not? It wasn't theirs, it was Sgt. Henry Watson's. And since he's dead, it belongs to his son. And since I just can't go waltzing in there and give them proof of ownership, you know being dead and all, so I stole it."

She just sighed.

"All right, Sherlock. But please don't do anything like that again." I promised.

**May 16th**

My feet touched on British soil for the first time in almost a year. I sent flowers to John. Purple hyacinth. I hoped he would understand how truly sorry I was.

I tapped Lestrade's phone. But there was nothing on that front. It was silent. It seemed that no one called the good inspector anymore. Or at least was smart enough not to this day. They were probably afraid he'd scream at them about daring to intrude on this day of mourning. At least that's what I hoped.

I visited Mrs. Hudson as an old man looking for a room. I was told that 221C was available but that a gentleman was renting 221B in memory of his brother, who had been a previous tenant. She said that it was the one year anniversary of the man's death but all she planned to do to day was make cookies and have a good cry.

I left her to that. I couldn't tell her that I was alive.

But it was killing me, no one seemed to remember I was dead. So I camped out at the grave yard.

Lestrade came on his lunch break. He was clearly drunk as blubbered about how guilty he felt about betraying me. The bottle still in his hand.

"I knew you weren't a fake, Sherlock but I was feeling pressure on both ends. I would do anything to take it back." He threw the bottle and shattered on the tree it hit, spraying glass and alcohol everywhere. He sunk to his knees.

"God forgive me for being a weak man." He sat there for awhile until he got a call.

"Go to hell Donovan, I don't care if the Queen wants to see me, I'm taking my full lunch and will be there not a moment later." He looked at his watch. "Which is in fifteen minutes. So there." He got up and staggered to his car.

I sat around for a few more hours and wondered if John was ever going to show. Finally as the sun was starting to sink below the sky line, there came John.

"Sherlock, sorry, I'm late. I missed my train this morning and had to catch the next one." He placed flowers on my grave. From my position I could see the bouquet had three flowers. Yellow zinnias, red carnations, and white astilbes. I had to wonder if he knew their meaning. For to me it screamed, "In daily remembrance of our friendship I will still be waiting."

"I miss you. I miss our cases together. Hell, I even miss you experimenting on me. I would do anything to get you back. Even if it meant following you to hell. Which I don't believe that's where you are. You did too much good, to belong in hell."

"But Sherlock, God can't need you as much as I do, so come back to me. Please…?" I fell to my knees. I never believed in a higher power but if there was one, I hoped that he would he would speed up the process of hunting down the assassins so that I could fulfill John's wish.

I collapsed on the ground as he continued to talk to me. Finally full dark came and he was unable to see the grave stone anymore and the cemetery would be closing up for the night.

I wasn't sure how long I laid there but I felt hands lift me up and carry me to a warm car. I felt a gentle hand rest on my head and I drifted off to sleep. I woke up in my hotel room unable to deduce who it was that helped me. I assumed it was one of Mycroft's people. And who ever it was had taken pity on his master's little brother. But perhaps it was Mycroft after all he had been more… what's the word…? Caring? Caring. Yes that was it.

I poured over notes and clues that Mycroft had left in my hotel room and knew where to chase the little bastard next.

**July 4th**

He slipped through my fingers in Germany when the police thought I was the criminal. By the time I explained that I was chasing him because he had stolen my wallet, which considering I haven't carried one since technically I was dead, he had gotten away.

And John wondered I why I hated the police so much. No, let's make assumptions based on no evidence at all and arrest the wrong man. Oh, yes. Let's. I tore up my seedy hotel room when I got back. I was so frustrated. I felt like I was running out of time.

I caught up to him in Spain but Moran was with him and I didn't think I could take them on at the same time. But I did enjoy listening to their conversation though.

"Did you _not _see what he did to Boerio? I've seen a lot shit in my line of work but even that made me ill." Orlov's voice held such fear.

"I saw and it doesn't matter. Do what I tell you and he'll be dead before he catches you. And then once he's dead, I'm going to show his mutilated corpse to that _pansy_. Honestly who gets invalided from a god damn shoulder wound?" That didn't make me happy I wanted to break his neck right there. But Orlov would have shot me before I could get my hands around Moran's throat.

"So you say but you haven't caught him. He has slipped through your fingers time and time again. Especially when he figured out you were tracking the brother." Moran back handed him.

"You piece of shit!" Moran pulled out his pistol from his shoulder holster. He pressed it to Orlov's head. Orlov spat at Moran's shoes.

"Go ahead, asshole. Save him the trouble. And I'd rather die like this then at the hands of that mad man. Go ahead. With me out of the way, there will be nothing standing between you and him." The thin Russian stared down the tall burly Englishman. After a brief pause Moran put away his pistol.

It really was a pity Moran didn't shoot him, I could have ended it that day. But apparently John's god wasn't ready for me to come home to him yet.

**Aug 14th**

They spilt up in Finland. Mycroft did his work spreading rumors of me being in several places and they had to check out every lead.

I traced him to Turkey where I almost had him. But I spooked him enough to send him running for Mother Russia.

I've set up a trap there. I will finally have Lestrade's assassin.

**Sept 6th**

He thought he was safe in a crowd. He didn't think I could turn his methods on him. I smiled as pressed the gun to his side.

"Weren't expecting this were, you?" I hissed in his ear.

"So you found me Mr. Holmes, but what good will it do you? Russians aren't very friendly to foreigners."

"Oh, don't you see?" My lips were still pressed to his ear. "I'm already dead. You can't kill a dead man." I pushed the barrel into his side and he winced.

"We can do this one of two ways, Orlov. We can do it your way, I shoot you and walk off like you never existed. Or we could do it my way and have a nice little chat in a hour at the this hotel at this number in…" I slipped a small piece of paper into his pocket. "Shall we say, an hour? And if you try to run, you'll end up running afoul my big brother."

Orlov nodded.

I sat in the cold dark hotel room waiting. And he did not disappoint. He came on the hour to the second.

"Have a seat," I indicated the chair in front of me. He sat and folded his arms in front of him.

"So what's the game plan? Throw me out the window like you did Dante?"

"So you were on first name basis with Boerio, interesting. Friend? Or at least as close you lot get…"

"I suppose you could say that. And I suppose you are hunting us down because we threatened _your_ friends." He smiled at me, clearly amused by this whole thing.

"Moriarty would only tell us about one piece of the puzzle. I got told everything about Gregory Lestrade. His police record. How he met you. Strung out after college doping yourself to oblivion. He arrested you on drug charges and the young Sargent took pity on the younger Holmes. He cleaned you up got you straight. But you stopped owing him a long time ago. All those cases you helped out on. You're the reason he got to be Detective Inspector.

"He owes you his career and yet that little flicker of doubt. That little idea Moriarty placed couldn't be dislodged. You couldn't have made them all up, it wasn't humanly possible. But maybe one or two. And down you fell because he listened to the nagging doubt and his stupid jealous underlings rather than you." He leaned forward and sneered.

"Shooting him would have been a mercy compared to life he lives now that you're gone and a fraud. They couldn't strip his rank not without looking like they believed he was in on it. And the public outcry would be far greater but they shuffled him off to the worst part of London, where he drinks his life away. His wife and daughter have left him. And it is all your fault. You should have let me kill him."

"You sure do talk a lot. And I am aware of what happened after my suicide," I furrowed my brow. "I'm not as heartless as people assume."

"Moriarty knew of your 'great heart', he called it. John was the tip of the iceberg. The man that showed you where it lay. You simply didn't know it could be unburied. He simply let everyone else see it."

I smiled at him.

"Yes and then Moriarty went a blew his brains out. And after I kill you I will make this world a little bit better."

"So are you going to make it look like suicide or robbery?"

I smiled. "Neither." I stood up and whispered in his ear. "I hear the Russian mob is looking for you. I'm going to take them down with you." His eyes went wide. He started stammering in Russian.

I tortured him and then put a single bullet to his head. Then I set about putting just enough evidence that even the stupid police would think the mob did it. Using the phone in the room, I called Mycroft.

"It's done. It's time to set up the final trap." I hung up and grinned into the dark.

**Dec 6th**

I was in Belarus when I got the call.

"You are a hard man to find."

"Hello, Mycroft. That was rather the point."

"Everything is set up now all we have to do is get you some place he can't find you."

"There are still things I can do out here. I can take down Moriarty cell. I bring down the whole house of cards." I could almost feel the sigh.

"Sherlock, please… I want you safe."

"This will make me safe Mycroft. Once the leaders are gone and Moran dead or in custody I can come home to John. But not yet. Not yet."

"Custody? Don't you want him dead?"

"I thought it'd be a nice gesture for Lestrade, having him catch the de facto leader of Moriarty's gang. Maybe have his superiors place their faith in him again."

"Sentimental." He scoffed before he hung up but I could tell he was proud of me.

I walked along the city streets and found the most incredible military styled coat I had ever laid eyes on. It was black with pockets on the breasts and suit flap pockets on the sides. It had straight sleeves with a rogue pocket on the left shoulder and a stand up collar. John would love it.

I had been getting a stipend from Mycroft for my daily needs but I often stole what I needed, so I had amassed quite the fortune. And I blew it all on that coat and it's shipping to England. I knew I would be getting a call from Mycroft on it but I didn't care. John deserved something extra nice this year. Especially since I couldn't be home for Christmas like I had planned.

**Dec 25**

I called Mycroft to spare him the trouble of trying to find me. Hell I don't think even i knew where I was. All these European cities were starting to blur together. It would be nice to be in good old London again.

"Happy Christmas, Mycroft."

"Sherlock? This _is_ unusual. Three Christmases in a row we've spoke on the phone. I'm starting to wonder on that law."

"I figured I'd save you the trouble."

"The trouble of what…" he trailed off.

"You're getting the news just now I think…"

"SHERLOCK HOLMES! YOU HAVE GONE TOO FAR!"

"Now now. It was just too perfect to pass up. Oh and I'm out of money."

"The cost of that thing must have be exorbitant. He's wearing it too. I thought that he would refused considering cost of the damn thing."

"I think he wants to believe it's from me…" I whispered. It was too much to hope for but it escaped my lips before I could stop it.

"He thinks you're dead Sherlock." Mycroft, the ever pragmatic.

"But he was never like us, Mycroft. He believes in a higher power than himself. He's warm and caring and just the sort to believe in miracles. I intend to give him one more present. Besides me coming home that is."

"For his birthday again, I assume." Came the world weary response.

"Correct. And I'm almost done pillaging Moriarty's nest. I'm looking forward to the new year."

"What is this time, a dog?" I laughed.

"You know I wouldn't be able to tolerate an animal in the flat. Besides in a few months, he'll have me at his side again making the need for a pet completely redundant." I told him.

"What is it then?" He was not happy with me.

"I found this beautiful Victorian stethoscope that I want to get him. He'd love it." I was met with silence on the other end.

"Place it on my tab then Sherlock but for god sake nothing else!" I giggled.

"Nothing else, Mycroft I promise. All gifts from now on will be bought and paid for by me and he will know that they are from me. Ta! Brother." I hung up and walked back to the antique shop to tell them to wrap it up for me.

**March 26th**

I delivered the present myself dressed a lost American tourist. I had to see the look on his face.

"Hey there," I sauntered up to him. I was aiming for a Boston accent, I think I managed well enough. "I found this on your doorstep." and handed him the present.

"Oh, thank you. Would you like to come in for coffee?" I nodded. I needed to see him it open it up.

"Have a seat then," he indicated to the chairs around the kitchen table. "I'll go make it."

I sat down and watched as he limped around. That old familiar cane clutched tightly in his right hand.

"Bum leg?" I asked.

"Old war wound." He muttered as he got down two mugs. My heart almost got caught in my throat when I saw it was the mugs we used at Baker St. I almost said something, the happiness in seeing those mere objects almost made me do something that would have endangered his life.

"My apologies I didn't know," But I did know. I knew better than anyone about his "war wound". Like the fact that it was in shoulder and not the leg. That the limp was psychosomatic and worse that it was back and it appeared to pain him even more now. I wanted to give in and just leave. But wanted to see him open it.

"Nah, it's okay. I'm use to it now." Without thinking he made me my coffee just how I took it. Black, two sugars.

He handed it to me. And then his eyes went wide. "I'm sorry I haven't made coffee for another person in so long that I just went into automatic mode." He reached for the cup, "I could make up differently if you like."

I waved him off and took a sip.

"That's good coffee." I complimented him. He glowed, a simple light coming to those eyes but he didn't quite smile.

"Thanks, it's what I got use to when I shared a flat in London." He stopped closed off and I decided to ignore it and press on.

"So who's sending you things?" I nodded to the package.

"Not sure. It's the same as before. I've gotten three other gifts from this mysterious benefactor." He stopped for a moment as if he was considering something. "Plus a sympathy bouquet," he added.

"Really? Must think you're something special." He looked down at the package on the table.

"Do you mind if I open it?" He asked as he sat down across from me with his own cup.

"No, no please. Open it. I'm as curious as you are." Though strictly speaking I was more curious about his reaction than what it was.

He unwrapped it cautiously as if he was afraid it might dangerous. Finally he got to the velvet case.

"Wow, I don't know what's in that but this has got to be the most expensive thing he's gotten me yet."

I frowned.

"How do you know, it's a guy?" I asked.

"Oh. Um… I've had girlfriends before, they like to get you flowery things like scents and things you'd much rather not wear. But he knew my tastes and everything has been spot on."

He opened up and began to weep. At first I thought I gotten it wrong.

"What is it?" I stood up and got behind him.

"You a doctor then?" I asked. He nodded.

"It's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it." He managed to croak out.

"So your mysterious benefactor gets it right again?"

"If I knew who it was I would send it back. I can't accept this. This is too much."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Well I've just met you and I think you should keep it." I told him as I walked back to my seat proud that I was 4-0. He had loved everything I had gotten him.

He blinked at me. "I guess you're right. I just don't know how to thank him. He's made the past couple of years bearable." I nodded.

"I should be getting back I just managed to take the wrong turn and got lost. I'm pretty sure I nearly run over a few people driving on the wrong side of the road."

"Thanks for the coffee." He just nodded. He was stroking the velvet lost in memories. I wondered briefly which memories he was lost in. The war maybe. Learning to be a doctor at Bart's? Playing doctor with his sister as child? Could I dare to hope that he was thinking about about me? I walked out and drove a kilometer or two out of town and broke down at the side of the road, in rage.

Why had it taken so long? I'm not sure if I have a John to come back to. His humor and laugh was gone. Would my coming back, bring those back too? Hope was slipping from me as it was slipping from John.

**May 16**

Moran had fallen for the trap and was casing Baker St. I was watching from the alley when I saw one of Lestrade's men doing the same. Luckily the two hadn't seen each other but I had to get to Lestrade's office and find out what he knew before this whole thing blew up in my face. I needed to talk to him too. He needed to take credit for it.

I dressed up as a desk sergeant and asked which way to Lestrade's office. No one pays attention to the lowly grunts. Once in his office I began pull out all the relevant case files.

I was about half way through when I spotted Lestrade and oh god… John. John was with him. I knew they hadn't spoken since the funeral. What was he doing here? I looked around for a hiding place. I spotted a closet where Lestrade kept extra suits just in case a scene was super messy. I dived into it, closing it tightly behind me just as they opened the door.

I cracked open the door and listened as they talked. Lestrade wanted to know if I had returned. They both wanted me back. I didn't think it was possible. I thought that they would both be so angry with me. Maybe I still had friends after all.

"It's okay, it was a long shot anyway," Lestrade said as John walked out. I was very grateful for the closed blinds as I stepped out.

"Lestrade…" I queried. He nearly jumped out of his seat, the sound of my voice was unmistakeable. I was glad to see in the past year he had gotten his old place back and he had gotten sober. His eyes were clear and bright and he was smartly dressed. Wasn't back with the wife however, judging from the lack of ring.

"Shite! Sherlock!" He nearly fell to the floor as he struggled to right himself. I put my finger to my lips to quiet him, trying to hide a smile.

"God Sherlock. Even after all this," he waved his hand over the case files, "I never actually expected you to be alive."

"I know but we don't have time go over what I've been doing over the last two years. I need your help to catch the most dangerous man in England."

"Moran?" I cocked my head to the side, surprised.

"Heard of him?"

"Oh yeah. Been causing trouble in the lower district for the past month or so." Clearly I was behind the times. I hated that. I made a note to badge Mycroft on that one. He was the one that was suppose to be keeping track of Moran's movements.

"But before we get into that," he cocked his head toward the chair John had just vacated. "Why haven't you told him, you're alive?" I closed my eyes.

"I can't. Not just yet."

"He's not well Sherlock. It doesn't take you to see that. He needs the action, the thrill of being with you. I nearly got my nose broken in for startling him." He rubbed the side of face in agitation.

"I've seen him three times since my fall and I agree with you but until Moran is taken out down, the most dangerous place for him to be is by my side."

"Why?" He asked. He wasn't going to let that go.

"Does it matter?" I stuck my hands in my pockets and my body moved side to side flustered.

"Molly's being telling me all about the gifts he's been getting, you?" He changed his line of questioning when he learned he wasn't going to get anything more out me on the sniper front.

"Guilty." He just chuckled and shook his head.

"Promise me you'll tell me all about it when we're done?" I nodded. I leaned forward.

"Now please? Can we get going? John's life is in danger being in London." He followed me out.

"Sgt. Williams here has been filling me in on a tip he got today about the whereabouts of none other than Sebastian Moran." The crowd of officers gasped.

I told them of the plan and they agreed to it. It was starting to fall into place. I grabbed my scarf and coat from Mycroft. He agreed it was time.

I snuck into the shop across from the flat and waited for him to take the shot. As he came down the stairs I made a leap for him but another force hit him from behind and I rolled away. I stood up to see John pointing a gun at the man's head. I smiled, seeing John had command of the situation, I left him to it.

I went to make sure Mrs. Hudson was safe. But she was fine. Happy even. I was talking to one of the constables and turned to see John fall to his knees.

I ran to him.

"You're alive." He said.

"I'm home," I replied. I held him close reveling in the scent of him. It smelled like home.

Too soon he wanted to let go but I led him up to our flat was glad to see that they had cleared away the dummy and the apparatus used to move it around. That would have been a hard thing to explain just then. I flopped on the couch and pretended to sleep and waited for him to drop off.

Once he was asleep I wrote this. I think this is the last time I'll need to write in it. I don't need to put my thoughts down anymore. I have someone to talk to. I have John.

I had found this small leather bound book while I was cleaning the flat and was surprised that on the inside, in Molly's handwriting was the words, "Propriety of Sherlock Holmes." I laughed, he'd never write in the damn thing. So I flipped through it. I was surprised that actually had writing, curious I went back to the first page and frowned at the date.

It was dated June 16th, two years ago. I had to laugh at the first line though, it was so Sherlock. The first line became the second and third and soon I became so engrossed in the thing, that I had left off cleaning and I sat on my chair. Time slipped away from me and I jumped at the sound of Sherlock slamming the door open.

He looked at what was in my hand, seeing how far I was he came over to me.

"In all your stories you never mentioned the gifts I gave you… why?" he looked sad. I stood up and led him over to the couch. I sat him down.

"Because, no one needed to know about them. About how they kept me sane. No one needed to know how far down I had slipped in your absence." I looked down. I had been in a really dark place those two years he was gone. I looked up into those pale blue orbs. "Why didn't you tell me you sent them?" I returned the question.

"I thought you'd try and give them back," came the quiet reply. I looked over at the coat that hung on the coat hook. I thought about the stethoscope, the jumper and even my father's medal.

"No, Sherlock. I wouldn't give them back now. They are too dear to me. Far dearer now, knowing they came from you, while you were on the run. That you cared enough to send me something to keep my spirits up."

I lifted the book a bit, "There was one thing conspicuously missing. You didn't say what you were doing during the gaps." He looked down at my hands.

"What I said before John about not living without you, I meant it." I frowned unsure of what he meant and then it dawned on me.

"Oh Sherlock," he continued to look at my hands. I put my arms around him and he clutched me like I was his life line.

"I wish I had known what you had gone through… I will never say that you don't understand war because what you went through was your own personal war."

"You don't hate me for what I did to the assassins?" He sounded afraid. I laughed.

"No, Sherlock. I would have done worse in your place." I'm not sure he believed me but he stayed in my arms.

After a few moments I heard, "You won't leave me?" He pulled away to look in my eyes.

"You're stuck with me now." He nodded and curled up on my lap where he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
